Laendler
by Yandoryn
Summary: The automail changed everything. Her tactics at the shooting range to how she viewed the world. Warnings: Rape, shota, yuri, yaoi. Mainly WinryRiza, though starts with RoyAl and implied RoyEd. Edited to be FFN safe! First chapter is just an introduction.
1. Part Zero: Predictable

"You didn't scream," Winry said, putting her wrench down on the tool bench, wiping a bit of sweat off her face. She leaned over to look the restrained officer in the face, taking a rag to the sopping brow of her patient.

Defiant reddish-brown eyes met her jovial blue ones as Major Riza Hawkeye struggled against the restraints, testing their mettle before spitting out the piece of leather she had muffled her gasps with, now deeply marred with bite marks. "Did you really expect me to, Miss Rockbell?" she asked in an extremely placid voice for someone who just had automail surgery.

"Not really," Winry said, grinning widely. "I can normally tell the rare patient who suffers in silence." Winry prattled on then for a good fifteen minutes on how Riza should take care of her new limbs, not bothering to undo the restraints. With Edward she had to have a captive audience, and though she was sure Major Hawkeye was nothing like Ed, she wasn't taking any chances. Winry would give anything to instill a healthy sense of respect for her metal limbs into Riza so that she wouldn't wreck them so often like Ed. Winry was near the end of her lecture when she followed Riza's lidded gaze. The fingers of the major's new metal hand clacked against the palm as she looked at her neatly folded uniform and on top, her meticulously cared for pistol.

Winry stared at the gun, stopping her lecture immediately, realizing that it was unnecessary. The smooth mechanics of the pistol Riza had gotten when she joined the military were cared for with such intense love that Winry knew that Riza wouldn't constantly be damaging her limbs.

The silence was almost palpable, but Riza digested it without recognition almost as easily as Winry's muted sermon. She wasn't paying attention to the details on how to clean the joints, what to do in case of nerve damage, or what to do if the metal is dented to the point it no longer moves, even though she understood innately that keeping her automail in working order would be just as important as making sure her pistol could fire. If she couldn't hold the gun, shoot the trigger, and handle the kick, how could she protect Fuhrer Mustang if need be?

But even with this compelling evidence to pay attention to the situation, it was only natural her mind was elsewhere.


	2. Part One: Reasonable Grounds

"What am I signing this time?" Fuhrer Mustang demanded, waving a highly colorful piece of paperwork in the air as Major Riza Hawkeye walked by his office door. He was so behind on the work required of a new Fuhrer that he had started signing most of the papers with just a quick glance to make sure he wasn't offering the Gate his soul, mind, or body. Beyond that, he could pay the price. But this piece of paper had been so colorful compared to the rest of the light grey, white, or sickly yellow pieces of paper, it had caught his attention.

At first Riza just walked past Roy's door but came back, her arms laden with paperwork which she set down on a recently cleared portion of Roy's desk. Roy suppressed a complaint about the inordinate amount of work today when his subordinate set a cup of coffee in front of him as a peace offering. She glanced around the office for a moment, noting mildly that it _still_ needed decoration. Roy had been Fuhrer for a month, yet the room was decidedly bare. Eventually Riza took a quick glance at the paper Roy had in his hands and beamed brightly.

"Ah, it came through," Riza said, taking it quickly, flipping through the multi-page document. "It's a request for a military parade. You've been Fuhrer for a month, but since your promotion ceremony you've only been in the office." Riza looked carefully at Roy gauging his reaction. "I asked Parliament to clear the streets for four hours so we could do a parade. You just have to sign at each of the flags."

"You're kidding, right?" Roy said, just staring at Riza. "After _everything_ that has happened, you are scheduling a _parade_?" It just seemed so ridiculous. He could barely get his paperwork through, the budget was seemingly strained, and he was busy trying to make sure that Parliament didn't take away all their power. But even more so, it had barely been a month ago that Edward Elric had disappeared and that loss hit him harder than he allowed others to see. His stoic face in the morning was often more than a lack of coffee, but the shock of waking up alone, without a certain blonde alchemist curled up next to him. They hadn't even _come out_ with their relationship before it was taken away from him. And she was planning a fucking _parade_?

"Yes," Riza said, standing tall, making sure that her case would be amplified by good ethos. "I believe, Fuhrer, that a military parade would not only boost the morale of our troops but will also give the military a presence again in the public. After Parliament took over, we have had diluted power, sir, but we are still looked to as protection for the people. And if you don't get a public presence, I am afraid that rebellions, in areas where military presence is weak, could break out." Riza continued to stand tall, her arms stiff, her gaze not submissive, but not domineering either. She hadn't asked for permission to speak, which she rarely did, but with such bold speech she paused to make sure she would be allowed to continue. "If you did a military parade in Central your chances of an assassination are lowered and people will not see you as a reclusive Fuhrer such as Fuhrer King Bradley. If you will pardon me overstepping my bounds, Fuhrer, I believe that if you continue to stick to office work, people will feel you do not have a presence and will begin to suspect you merely because Fuhrer Bradley also failed to have a presence and was untrustworthy."

Roy stared at Riza openly. Though they were good friends and had confided much in each other, after Roy had become Fuhrer, Riza had seemed to become more detached and hadn't overstepped her bounds as a Major. She normally spoke her mind when it came to smaller details but almost always asked for permission to speak freely when it came to such a serious issue. Obviously this was bothering the major more than she was willing to admit so _he_ overstepped his bounds, placing a light hand on her shoulder. Her chin was rigid and she was locking eyes with him, refusing to lose the battle of dominance. Eventually he sighed, pulling the hand back, letting it stiffly fall to his side as Riza's demeanor refused to crack. "I'll sign the papers; I understand," he said softly but quickly, nodding. He knew better than to defer to her advice even though he body screamed that this wasn't the time. The last thing he wanted was rebellions and war so soon after the revolution. He took the piece of paper back from Major Hawkeye and placed it on his desk, reading the rules, zoning, and restrictions carefully, trying not to acknowledge Riza's heavy presence. Riza eventually nodded, not even saluting, making her way woodenly to her desk, slumping in her chair while formulaically going through her work, snapping once in a while at Havoc to continue working.

Lunch break came and went and Riza continued sitting at her desk, simply working, eventually going to the break room to quickly heat something up on the stove and then returned to her desk to chew it methodically while making sure that the Fuhrer had every bit of information and work he needed to succeed. The goals before the man, she told herself, smiling coyly at her own little joke. She'd bog him down with paperwork even if he was mooning over the Elric boy. She would make sure that he didn't devote too much funding to finding the Fullmetal Alchemist, even if he was AWOL. They all knew that if Edward was able, he would come looking for his brother.

Perhaps was Roy was worried about, was Ed not being able.

Normally Riza wasn't distracted while she worked, but as she watched the Fuhrer leave, she watched his gait and shook her head. The Mustang she had known didn't leave a room defeated. He strode confidently and smirked his way out of a room, not leaving it with a dejected sigh. After Roy and Havoc left and Riza was sure they weren't coming back, Riza looked carefully over her work and then stood, opening the slightly ajar door to the Fuhrer's office. When she lit a lamp she looked again at the papers that Roy had finished with. "Roy Mustang," she thought sadly, flipping the upside down picture frame right side up. A scowling alchemist fighting with a smirking Colonel greeted her and she turned her attention back to the work. "You've gotten Ed through so much," she almost said aloud. She picked up the street release forms and spied Roy's search request. A month of full search had proved nothing. Just one ten-year-old Alphonse Elric. "Sometimes, Fuhrer, you've got to let him find is own path. Let him save himself. For now, I'll just make sure that love doesn't skew your ideals. Because Roy, for me, it's the goals before the man." She would make sure that the goals got accomplished, whether or not Edward Elric was savable. She flipped the picture frame back down, taking what work she needed, and leaving the office.


	3. Part Two: Mistaken Identity

Some documents had to climb the ladder—Major Hawkeye would bring them up to Fuhrer Mustang for a final inspection. Some documents were introduced by the Fuhrer and Major Hawkeye simply had to make sure they got into the right hands.

This was one of those documents.

"Alphonse Elric has applied to become a state alchemist with dispensation from the Fuhrer.

"He has passed with exceptional marks on the written test, impressed the entire panel for the interview, and his practical exam was one of the best we've seen since his brother. Because of this, he is going to be admitted at the age of 10 as a major. Please see to it that he is fitted with a proper uniform and is found a room in the dorms.

"Until then he can reside in my house."

It was signed and dated by the Fuhrer and was a valid request for him to make. All she had to do was get a copy to recruitment, housing, and the seamstress. She had already received information that he would be working directly under the Fuhrer, so she wouldn't have to give a copy of the information to his commanding officer. Getting a uniform to fit him would be a different

She slowly began scrawling out notices to each department worth notifying. For now, Al's mail would go to the Fuhrer's house. He would get his enlistment notice, his call to the seamstress to get a uniform, and eventually, when a room opened, a dorm assignment in the Fuhrer's mail.

* * *

As Havoc drove Al to the Fuhrer's residence, the boy seemed to lose part of the light in his eyes; the jovial grin he had worn so well over the past month as a carefree child vanished as the ten-year-old stared woodenly at the rapidly disappearing military scenery.

For the first few moments in the car, Havoc tried to treat Al as a child. When he tried to explain why Fuhrer Mustang lived so far from headquarters, Al simply said in a tired monotone, "It's to make the people feel as if the Fuhrer is accessible. It was also a deal struck with some members of Parliament—corrupt, of course, but certain to increase the value of the neighborhood." At first Havoc was afraid he would stare openly at what seemed to be a stroke of brilliance coming from someone so young, but as he remembered the Alphonse he had known—hiding kittens in his armor, trying to get Ed to drink milk, and always, always trying to make sure they both stayed on their goal—Havoc was shocked that Al, so expressive as an empty suit of armor, could be this stiff doll, able to pick military and political science strategies out of a public relations campaign effortlessly.

Eventually Havoc adjusted his mirrors, increasing his blind spot, but making it so he wouldn't have to see those lifeless eyes every time he looked back at traffic.

When they made it past the two security gates and all the way up to the Fuhrer's front door, Havoc readjusted his mirrors to make sure the drive home would be safe. Then he waited several beats for Al to open the car door, but as the seconds ticked by fruitlessly, Havoc undid his seatbelt and opened his car door in one impatient, frustrated movement. Havoc made his way over to the rear passenger door and in a similar fit of rashness yanked it open.

Havoc almost regretted his impatience when he looked down at slate-colored eyes, blinking as if adjusting to the light. But as Havoc saw the corners of Al's mouth perk up into a smile, albeit a sad one, and slight emotion returned to the boy's eyes, Havoc helped him out of the car, plastering a grin on his face, content to see that some of the light had returned to Al's eyes. "Come on, boss," he said with that insatiable grin, watching Al steady himself, balancing his weight between his feet gingerly, like a cat. While Al had seemed wooden and lifeless in the car, he now seemed almost childlike in the sun, the only evidence of his adult responsibilities the crumpled pink paper in his trembling left hand.

Havoc had seen the original copy signed by Major Hawkeye, passed to the Fuhrer and then sent out.

_Major Alphonse Elric, the Resurrection Alchemist,_

We have received your request to stay at the military dorms in Central, however, we currently have no space to place you. As Fuhrer Mustang has requested that we not transfer you to East City, he has set up accommodations for you in his guest room. You will be notified as soon as a dorm room is available, but until then, I will have your mail transferred to the Fuhrer's residence. You will be expected to wear your uniform to work. Please pick up the uniform we currently have available for you from the seamstress. We have scheduled a fitting for Wednesday evening so you can get a uniform tailored to your measurements. The military will cover the cost of your inn until Monday at 1700. At that time Major Jean Havoc will come to pick you up and escort you to the Fuhrer's house. Congratulations on your achievements so far.

Major Riza Hawkeye

Fuhrer Roy Mustang

The letter was curt and tense, treating the ten-year-old like any other soldier. Edward realized shortly before he disappeared that even if you receive your silver watch and join the military, that doesn't make you an adult. Yet here was the military, treating a ten-year-old boy who recently lost his brother as if he had reached an age of maturity.

At least the passion Havoc had spied ever-so-briefly in Al's eyes, linking him so closely to his brother, would keep him strong. Al would not cave simply because the military placed a man's load on his shoulders while it refused to admit he was still sensitive and young. Passion would keep Al from failing, but it was passion that caused Scar to murder thousands of people, and it was passion that allowed Tucker to sacrifice his wife and daughter. They thought they were gaining something great and worthy.

What was Ed's life worth?

To Al, it could be worth anything. And coupled with that passion, how much would a ten-year-old boy sacrifice to see his brother again?

Those were questions Havoc didn't necessarily want answered.

He took Al's hand gently in his own, reassuring the alchemist that he was there, while not openly babying him in front of the several troops stationed around the Fuhrer's house.

Al gently clasped Havoc's hand and then released it, smiling gently at him, devoid of the earlier sadness. A few heart beats later, Al walked up to the Fuhrer's door and swung his silver watch between his fingers.

"Alphonse Elric, state alchemist," he said simply. He gauged the reactions of the troops for a moment then held up the piece of paper in his hand, still not allowing the silver token to disappear from the troops' sight. "I have an order here cosigned by Major Riza Hawkeye and Fuhrer Mustang telling me that I am to take residence here until the dorms are open."

One of the men took the paper from Al, flattening it for a moment, looking at the signatures. They looked at Havoc as well, a familiar face, constantly chauffeuring the Fuhrer back home. It didn't take long (just a few swings of the watch) before Al could grab the paper back and was being shown into the Fuhrer's house.

Al looked up at the high ceiling in the Fuhrer's house once the troops had unlocked the door, leading him into the mansion. He felt slightly nervous, having heard several rumors about the brother he couldn't remember and the current Fuhrer who was a new entity as well. He stood woodenly, dressed in an oversized military uniform inside of the Fuhrer's front door. Major Havoc stepped inside, shutting the door behind him and with that guesture shutting the troops out as well. He had grabbed Al's bag from the car and dropped it now on the floor, the books padded with a few pieces of clothes making a dull _whumph_ against the ground. "Fuhrer Mustang said he would be home around eighteen hundred hours. That's about...half an hour. Would you like me to wait with you?" Havoc offered, knowing that Al would probably say no, but also knowing that the offer would be appreciated.

Al shook his head, looking at the well-decorated house. There was no way Roy Mustang decorated this himself from the state of his office, he deduced. "Do you know what room I will be staying in?" he asked in a quiet voice.

Havoc nodded and picked Al's bag back up, throwing it over his shoulder as he pointed to the spiral staircase. "All the bedrooms are on the second floor. Most of the guest bedrooms are in the west wing, but the Fuhrer has you staying in the guest room in the east wing, next to the master bedroom," he explained, pointing each direction as he talked, making it clear which way was which.

"Then I can stay in the bedroom until the Fuhrer gets home," Al said simply, taking his bag from Havoc, much to the man's surprise. Even though he was a ten-year-old in both mind and body, there was something about his soul that belied that youth. Havoc stood for a moment as Al made his way up the spiral staircase but then saluted. "Major Elric, I'm sure I'll see you tomorrow," he said, saluting the boy before turning and making his way back to the car.

* * *

Roy opened the liquor cabinet, happy to see that Riza must have dropped by during her lunch break. And if the liquor cabinet was full the chance was good that he might have dinner in the fridge. He pulled a glass down from the bar and dropped a few ice cubes in. Looking at his new selection he pulled down a well aged single malt scotch, measured out two shots and poured them into the glass. He took his drink to the table and placed it on a coaster, not wanting to ruin the nice finish on the table Riza had made him buy. He opened the ice box and was happy to find not only _dinner_ but plenty of food for the rest of the week as well. He shut the ice box and picked up his glass, swirling it gently before taking a swig of the bitter, burning fluid. Riza had good choice in liquor.

If she wasn't gay, she would make the perfect wife, he pondered, remembering when he asked her out. The gun was in his face faster than he had ever seen it drawn before. But hell, if she would still stock his ice box, decorate his house, and make sure he had fine liquor, he wasn't about to complain.

As he was making his way to the study, glass in hand, he heard a noise he hadn't heard in over a month. He licked his lips, slightly sticky from dehydration and paused, looking up at the ceiling. The shuffled clomping resonating through the floor boards was somewhat comforting, but as he listened longer, each step made the same noise.

The noise, however, stopped him. It was so familiar—the noise of pacing slowly creeping across the kitchen ceiling then returning, repeating endlessly. Edward always was pacing there when he got home, pondering some array or pondering some text he had devoured throughout the day.

It took his slightly inebriated mind a few moments to register what made the noise grate on his mind so much. One step, two steps, four steps, they all sounded the same. There was no metal foot pounding on his expensive hardwood floors, rather two flesh feet pacing carefully.

He felt stupid after a while, thinking that Edward was back, pacing in his room. But he was the one tipping over the pictures, hiding the past, trying to forget not that they'd ever had a relationship, but that it was _gone_.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to see Alphonse in this state. He wasn't quite sure why he invited the ten-year-old to stay with him in the first place. Sure, the dorms had been full, but there were still other options. As soon as possible (as soon as he was able to face the boy) he would make it clear this was only until a spot in the dorms opened up.

Sitting down at the kitchen table, he tried to ignore how unnerved the pacing made him. Trying to knock the last of the liquor in his glass back, he only managed to spill half-melted ice on his face. He didn't bothered to put more ice in the glass. The ice on the floor would melt then evaporate.

By the time he was drunk enough to not remember why he didn't want to go upstairs, the glass was sideways on the table, threatening to fall on the floor, and a cheaper bottle of whiskey was in his lap. He smiled up, listening to the thuds above him—one foot following right after another.

He stood up and sat back down, dizzier than he had expected from the liberal amounts of alcohol in his system. A few moments later, he shook it off, standing up and using the table as a support to get to the stairs. "Edward!" he laughed, dragging himself up, but threatening to pull of the banister as he did so.

The pacing paused, like it always did and he heard boots clamber out of Edward's bedroom. A young boy was at the top of the stairs, pale yellow hair shining in the artificial light. "My stairs never looked so good," Roy purred, dragging himself all the way up.

Seeing Roy like this shook Alphonse greatly, and the calm, composed almost-man in the car melted. He shook his head violently, his eyes widened, taking a few steps back in fear. "Fuhrer," he said candidly, trying to regain some of his composure. "You're drunk."

"Drunk am I?" Roy laughed. "No... I'm not drunk. Come on, Edward... let's go to the library..."

"I'm Al," the boy said stubbornly. "Not Edward. Edward's not here, Fuhrer, _please_, you're drunk!"

Roy shook his head, slipping an arm around Al's waist. "You're so beautiful, Edward," he murmured, the smell of cheap whiskey permeating the air.

"Not Edward," Al exclaimed loudly, trying to struggle away, but the older man's grip, even drunk, was too strong.

Fabric Roy was sure was red fabric pooled at the ground as he undressed the boy, applying soft kisses to his neck as he did so. Al whimpered lightly, wishing his body didn't feel frozen. He knew he should struggle and try to run, but his body felt wooden and heavy. He knew how to deal with being treated as a child and he knew how to be treated as a soldier. This, however, was foreign and he didn't understand it at all. Roy loosened his grip a bit, one hand sneaking to unclasp the jacket, letting the black fabric join the fabric only red to him.

"Edward," Roy said, stroking down Alphonse's back, trying to calm his shaking. "It's alright. I promise."

Al whimpered, looking up at Roy with tears in his eyes. "Please, Fuhrer, no," he mumbled, suddenly realizing that even if he ran, there was nowhere to run to. "You're drunk and I'm not Edward."

"No one needs to know," Roy whispered into Al's ear, placing a soft kiss. "I understand, Edward..."

Tears ran down Al's face as Roy kissed his mouth, parting the boyish lips with his tongue. Roy didn't taste the salt, just reveled in kissing his 12-year-old lover who had disappeared so recently. Fumbling with the young boy's clothes again, Roy steered him towards Edward's bedroom, whispering love and soft things in his ear, eventually disregarding the quivering and shaking of the boy below him as nervousness.

The deep breaths were arousal, not fear, as Roy slipped the shirt off the small frame, kissing his chest and sucking lightly on the pale nipples. The hardening his hand felt under the leather pants was from his careful ministrations, not an unwilled reaction, amplified by terror. The hair wasn't sandy blonde, but bright and gold, threading through his deft fingers.

The keening wasn't a no, it was Edward succumbing to his strong presence. The struggling was simply Ed's initial denial he was attracted to the man fourteen years his senior.

After all, it stopped after a moment. The tears didn't stop flowing down Al's face, but he resigned to the soft caresses, listening to Roy tell Edward how much he loved him. Brother was gone, Alphonse knew, and he was sure Roy understood it as well, at least when he was sober. He didn't understand everything Roy was doing, or why he was purring his brother's name in his ear, but he understood one thing.

He needed to be Brother for the Fuhrer. Even if it was just this night.

He stopped struggling, letting Roy take his small wrists and pull them above his head, the man's other, larger hand roughly undoing his leather pants. He knew they were going to have sex, but that idea was still vague in his head.

But when it came down to it, he questioned whether he could go through with it, Roy's hand down his pants, Roy's pants down to his ankles.

Al's mouth went dry and the heavy fear weighed down his chest. His breath deepened again, but one of Roy's fingers went to his mouth, the older man telling him it would be okay.

Al wasn't sure why he believed him, but his breathing slowed, his eyes going lazy as Roy stroked him gently. Roy cupped a hand at his hips, shifting him gently and the older man was sure the boy mewed at him in confusion. A kiss below the ear and gentle words rectified the situation, though they were all with Edward's name.

Edward. He could be Brother for Roy.

He wasn't sure what to make of the tears when it was over, the keening no Al eventually had managed cut off by his hand during the entire act, so he pulled out, stroking the back of Al's neck and cuddled him close, not even realizing Al still hadn't come as he drifted off to sleep, still believing Edward was in his arms.

* * *

Al didn't move for a while, Roy's seed slick against his legs, cooling uncomfortably. The man's arms were heavy, but he didn't want to disappoint him, being Brother for this moment. It wasn't until he was completely sure the Fuhrer was asleep that he untangled himself from the man.

He fell to the floor, but didn't cry from that pain, hurting so much already. He didn't even try to stand up, just pulled himself along the floor by his forearms, making his way to one of the other guest bedrooms. He didn't even try to pull himself up onto the bed, just curled up on the rug, pulling his knees to his chest and crying himself to sleep, not exactly sure what to make of the situation.

* * *

When Roy got dressed in the morning for work, he was puzzled by the mess in the sheets, but try as he might, he couldn't remember who he brought home last night. He shrugged it off, after a while, sure whoever it was would call at some point during the day. For now, he had to nurse his hangover and get to work.

He completely forgot Al had moved in yesterday, and as Havoc didn't drive him to work, rather another soldier, no one was there to remind him about the 10-year-old alchemist. It wasn't until ten o'clock, when Riza calmly shoved paperwork under his nose, asking where the youth was.

"Alphonse?" Roy asked. "Wasn't he staying in a hotel?"

"He moved into your dwelling last night, sir," Riza said respectfully. "You signed the papers, remember?"

"I sign a lot of papers," Roy said, absentmindedly signing the one's Riza had given him.

"No, sir, the other line," Riza said, moving his pen to the correct spot.

"Thank you," Roy said, scrawling his signature.

Riza paused, standing in front of his desk, frowning. "Would you like me to go get him, sir?"

"Yes, please," Roy said absentmindedly. "Are these more papers on the parade?"

Riza just nodded. "I'll be back soon."

* * *

Riza got in her car, sighing, wondering how Roy was so absentminded some days. He'd gained his goal and now, having lost Edward, he was on the path of abandoning it. She'd do anything to make sure that man stuck to his morals and did the work he set up for himself.

She parked the car in the circle drive, staring the troops at the door down. They knew her well enough. They knew, at least, better than to bother her. She took out her key, opening the door, stepping inside.

She picked up a bottle of whiskey from the floor and straightened the kitchen. She frowned, looking in the liquor cabinet to see what kind of dent he had made.

"Al?" she asked, putting the empty bottles in the trash and stacking cups in the sink, filling the basin with warm soapy water. When she got no response, she plodded up the stairs. Riza paused at the top of the stairs, looking at Al's brown coat and jacket on the floor.

"Alphonse?" she asked again, picking up the clothes, swallowing hard. She turned into Edward's room. The bed was made pristinely, the sheets pulled tight and the blanket folded at the foot of the bed. She stepped forward, looking around the room.

She froze when she got to the other side of the bed, finding a mess of Roy and Al's clothes. She picked up the clothing, folding it neatly, her breath quickening in fear.

She nearly ran to the next guest bedroom and opened the door, choking lightly when she saw Al curled up on the floor, nude and sticky with blood and semen. "Alphonse!" she gasped, picking up the light boy in her arms.

Al opened his eyes, moaning lightly. "Alphonse," she repeated, standing up, making her way to the bathroom, stroking the back of the young boy's neck, telling him everything was going to be okay.

The words sounded familiar to Al. He opened his eyes all the way, staring up at the reddish brown ones intently fixed on him, full of worry. He struggled slightly, surprised not to find black eyes staring at him with lust and love, listening to the Fuhrer's professions of love for his brother.

"Alphonse," she said sitting on a toilet, holding him in her lap as she drew a bath. "Tell me what happened."

Al shook his head violently, the tears running down his face again.

Riza sighed, stroking Al's hair, trying to calm the boy. And this was the man she admired so much. She just held him for a moment, letting the bath fill with warm water, letting it cool a bit before placing the small boy in it.

"I'll keep you safe," Riza told him, slowly washing the crusted blood and come off of his legs. "But I need to know what happened."

Al swallowed hard, not understanding completely himself, not sure what to say. "He wanted Brother," he managed after a moment, moving to allow her to clean him better.

"Who?" Riza asked, handing him a sponge so he could clean his genitals himself, not wanting to ask him leading questions.

"The Fuhrer, Roy," Al mumbled, his hands shaking too much to clean himself properly. Riza sighed, taking the sponge from him, slowly cleaning him off, not sure what to tell the boy except that he was safe now.

She looked up at him surprised when he said, "I wanted to be Brother for him," and dropped the sponge in dirty water. She took that moment as an excuse to start draining the tub, refilling it with cleaner water. "I couldn't, though," Al continued. "It just hurt too much. I was afraid."

"You don't need to be your brother," Riza assured him, washing his hair gently. "You're good enough as Alphonse Elric."

Al didn't say anything, not wanting to contradict her. He knew he'd want someone to bring Brother back for him, even if it was just for a moment.

"Was he drunk?" Riza asked eventually, breaking the silence.

Al nodded, picking up the sponge, squeezing all the water out of it. "Very," he whispered quietly.

"Alphonse," Riza said, helping him out of the tub. "That was rape."

Al cried quietly in her arms, not even realizing he was soaking her, just now letting his emotions out, not wanting to admit her words were true.


	4. Part Three: Need a Mother

"Alphonse, you need to get out of the tub," Riza murmured gently, careful not to touch the boy too much, yet afraid to not touch him at all. The boy drew his knees to his chest, shaking hard, his head swaying side to side, unable to verbalize the word "no." Riza sighed, replacing some of the cooling water with warmer water, trying to make sure the boy was at least comfortable.

The blood and semen had been washed off the boy's body, though it had taken a while and much prompting. Riza touched his hair lightly, watching the boy scrub at a patch of skin that had been cleaned already, as if he was trying to clean the dirt he couldn't see, the dirtiness of what had happened, what he had _almost_ done, and what had been done to him. She looked away from the raw red patch, hoping Al's body could stay mainly unblemished from this incident, no marks to remind him of what had happened.

Her uniform was completely soaked by this point, sticking to her uncomfortably. Alphonse had been in the tub for hours now, occasionally clinging to her, drenching her with water every time he did so, though he managed to keep his tears right above her breasts. She didn't mind, allowing him to do almost anything, just wanting to make sure he didn't hurt himself and be there for him.

It just hurt her so badly to see the boy they had assumed was a man sobbing in the bathtub, reminding her of the child he obviously was. This was partly her fault; treating a boy like a man only ever led to pain. They hadn't even treated Edward like this.

And she wasn't even sure if anyone had learned from their sins. Alphonse Elric was a child, and deserved love and comfort just as much as any human could need.

Perhaps even some adults could use that attention.

* * *

A couple hours later, Alphonse didn't struggle when she helped him out of the bathtub, wrapping his shaking, pale body in a towel. She didn't dare leave him, even for a moment, so she took off her military jacket, wrapping him in it as soon as she got him dry, wishing he didn't look so dwarfed in the blue coat.

She walked him to her car, holding his hand, not caring about the stares she accrued on the way, just focusing all her attention on the ten-year-old and getting him safely in the car. She set him in the backseat, making sure he was completely comfortable before slouching in the front seat, running her fingers through her hair.

It took a couple of deep breaths before she could turn the key and start up the car. "Alphonse," she said gently, knowing she'd get no reaction from the boy. "I'm going to take you to my flat now, and we'll find a place for you to stay soon enough." His expected silence was still disconcerting.

She drove silently, parking at the small apartment complex. She sat in the car for a few moments, listening to Al's shallow breathing and small whimpers. It wasn't long before the small noises grated on her, making her feel uneasy to the point she couldn't take it anymore. Riza opened the glove box, taking out a small book with her subordinates' addresses and phone numbers before starting up the car again, making her way to a pay phone. She quickly got out of the car and slammed the door behind her, not noticing Al's cringe at the loud noise.

She dialed the number in the book awkwardly, tapping her feet with every ring. Eventually, she heard a meek voice answer the phone.

"Sergeant Cain Fury?" she asked.

"Major Riza Hawkeye?" she heard in return.

She sighed, not sure how to say this. "Sergeant," she said in a low tone. "I need your help." Riza swallowed hard, leaning against the glass wall, staring back at the car where Al was still shivering in her coat. "I need to go take care of some stuff," she continued vaguely. "But I need you to take care of something else."

Riza listened to the crackle of static for a while, Fury paused on the other line, not sure what to say. Eventually she heard him take a deep breath. "Major, I can't do anything for you if I don't know what's going on," he told her gently, innately picking up on the small tremors in her voice most people wouldn't overlook.

"Al's really hurt," Riza said tersely, trying for a clinical tone, free of her emotions, but failing. "I really don't want to leave him home alone tonight, and I have to go take care of some things for work." She watched her fingers twitch against the glass sporadically, knowing the arm holding the reciever was shaking as well, but she was too numb to feel it trembling against her ear.

"Oh," Fury said, not asking more, picking up subtle cues telling him she didn't really want to finish the story. "Are you going to drop him off at my dorm or do you want me to come pick him up?"

"You don't have a car, do you?" Riza asked, unclasping her hair and straightening it, messy from all the times Al had clung to her and she had run her fingers through it.

"No," Fury admitted. "I could borrow one, though..."

Riza smiled, leaning her forehead against the telephone box, glad she was right when she had called Fury of all people. She couldn't trust Havoc and everyone else in the office would be too distant for what the boy needed. "That's okay," she told him after a few moments. "I'll drive him over."

"I'm glad to help," Fury said truthfully.

Riza smiled to herself, stuffing her shaking hand in the pockets of her uniform. "I'll be there soon," she told him, still watching Al from the booth. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Fury said seriously. "I'll be here when you get here."

Riza nodded, about to hang up, but she paused. "I need new clothes for him, too," she told Fury, not caring how odd that sounded. "Do you have just a large shirt he could wear?"

Fury pondered for a few seconds on the odd request, but didn't say anything besides, "Sure."

Riza smiled, holding back the tears anyone else would have let flow. "I'll be there soon," she told him, hanging the phone up, listening to the click of the hook echo for a few moments.

It only took her a couple of minutes to compose herself, steadying her hands and smiling softly as she walked back to the car.

Slipping into the front seat, she said, "Al, I changed my mind." She shifted the rear-view mirror so she could see the boy clearly as she spoke. "I'm going to let you stay with Sergeant Fury for a while. He has kittens..."

Al looked up, wiping tears away from his eyes. "I like kittens," he said hoarsely. Riza nodded, looking back at the boy. "He has two. He had to get special paperwork so he could have animals in his dorms."

"What are their names?" Al managed, sniffling into his knees, grasping at the blue jacket around him.

"Jeremy and Lily," Riza told him, starting up the car so she could get him to the dorms. She kept the idle banter up, glad to hear Al talking to her. "Jeremy's a calico cat and he's a sweet little boy. Lily on the other hand is a--"

Riza was cut off by Al telling her, "Male calicos are really rare."

She smiled to the rear-view mirror. "Really?" she asked him, wishing she could see his eyes. It was easier to keep up her facade of calm while Al was chattering like this, rather than sniffling in the back seat, just clasping at her blue coat.

"Calico cats are almost always female," the boy told her in a weak voice. "And the males that are calico normally can't have babies though sometimes they can. Sometimes they're really sickly, too..."

Riza grinned. "Well, Jeremy's most definitely orange, white, and black, and he's not sickly, but he's a lovable little kitten."

"How old is he?" Al asked.

"They're both about ten weeks old," Riza told him. "Still really young."

Al was quiet for the rest of the ride, still clasping at the blue jacket again, but not crying as hard.

* * *

When they got to the dorms, Riza pulled the book containing all her subordinates' numbers and addresses again, checking Fury's room number. She looked back at Al, sighing lightly when she saw the boy dead asleep, her jacket covering him as well as he could manage, holding it so hard that even in his sleep his knuckles were white.

She got out of the front seat, shutting her door quietly, careful not to disturb Al this tune. She walked around to the back seat, picking him up gently, doing her best not to wake the boy as she did so. When she pulled him out of the car and shut the door, however, he stirred lightly, holding onto her dress shirt.

"Mommy," he gasped quietly.

Riza couldn't tell if he was asleep or half asleep, but those words hit her hard, reminding her that this was the boy she had sworn to herself was an adult. She stroked his hair gently, whispering comforting words to him, not correcting him, but not wanting to blatantly place her in his life as a mother figure.

She shifted the boy after a few moments, finding his weight awkward as she walked through the concrete halls, passing the doors all the same. Alphonse sighed lightly in her arms again, mumbling. "Love you, mommy..."

She paused, taking a deep breath, controlling herself, not wanting to lose her composure there. Eventually she got to the 800 building and knocked lightly on Fury's door.

The man answered the door immediately, so quickly Riza knew he had been waiting right by the door for her to knock. She smiled down on the short man, holding Al close to her. He moved immediately, letting her come inside.

"Do you want to put him on the sofa?" he asked quietly, looking at the sleeping boy.

She smiled and shook her head. "Do you have an extra bed?"

"Yeah, I do," he said. "Let me get the cats off of it; they've claimed it as their own."

"That's alright," she countered. "He said he really wanted to hold Jeremy and Lily. Waking up with them might be good for him."

If Fury found anything odd about the situation, he didn't say anything, just smiled and went to get a shirt and a pair of boxers for Al. "Here," he said, handing the clothes to Riza. "You said you didn't have any clothes for him."

Riza looked down at the clothes, knowing they'd be too big for the boy, even though Fury was small. She took her jacket from Alphonse, walking into Fury's second bedroom, glad the man had requested a private suite. She stroked his hair lightly, watching his brow furrow in sleep, apparently having a bad dream. As she sat him up to pull the shirt on, his eyes fluttered open and he watched her, holding up his arms when she began to clothe him. She watched his passive demeanor; he was allowing her to do whatever she wanted with his body, but when she touched him too much, he'd squirm away. She eventually managed to get the boxers on him without making the boy uncomfortable and put Jeremy in his lap, letting the boy pet the kitten absentmindedly.

She left the bedroom and looked at Fury. "Just make sure he's okay?" she said. "Maybe talk to him a little... I just don't want to leave him alone."

Fury nodded, looking into the bedroom, Lily pawing at the boy's chest while he pet Jeremy. Fury noticed the tears in the corners of Al's eyes and stepped into the bedroom, sitting at the desk, making sure he kept an eye on the 10-year-old while he did his work.

* * *

Riza drove home calmly, her fingers drumming against her steering wheel. She didn't try to stop the twitches, knowing that it would be a futile attempt, at least until she got home; managing to keep her foot from idly tapping the gas pedal was hard enough. Once she parked her car and got inside, she stripped from her military uniform, looking at the messy clothes for a moment, before pulling on a pair of boxers and a men's undershirt, wandering to the kitchen to grab a couple of rags and some wood polish.

She went over to her walnut dresser, starting to obsessively polish the only real piece of furniture in her flat, trying to stop the shaking and to allow her to finally think.

However, she didn't want to think, especially when it hit her.

_Fuhrer Roy Mustang_, the man she idolized and protected, had done this to a 10-year-old boy.

She didn't know the whole story, she told herself repeatedly, rubbing over her finger prints and Black Hayate's nose prints, her tension alleviated a bit with every smudge removed.

It was by the time the bookshelf had been alphabetized, the kitchen reorganized and cleaned, the entire bathroom cleaned, and Black Hayate washed that Riza finally calmed down, collapsing on her bed, crying softly. She couldn't let Al see her like this, right now. She couldn't let anyone see her like this, really. Even soft tears like these were too much to share. After all, she was supposed to be the strong one.

She rolled onto her side, dragging the covers with her, pulling them up to her chest, shivering lightly, but not bothering to turn the heat on in the house. She wished she could get more information, know at least _why_ Roy had done what he did.

After pondering that for a few moments, however, her gut clenched, remembering what had bothered her so much before: the clinical way she'd treated Al, just like any other soldier. She did her best to will the bile accumulating in her throat back down.

She knew she was partially at fault for this.

She _co-signed_ the orders in clinical legalese, placing Al with the man who would...

Roy Mustang who...

She pulled her knees to her chest, doubling the blanket over, shaking lightly. She didn't know how long it took for her to realize she could _help_ the situation, which, naturally, alleviated some of her shaking and allowed her to swallow down the burning fluids trapped in her throat.

While she had stuck herself to his moral, she had never trusted Roy. Even though she was ranked below him, _she_ was the one who made sure he did his paperwork, didn't sleep on the job, and came to functions dressed properly.

If she couldn't trust him to do his job, she just couldn't trust him with Al again. And she'd do her finest to make sure the man she idolized stayed as far away as possible from the young boy.

For both of their sakes. 


	5. Part Four: Cold

"Al?" Fury's voice was soft and timid and he walked over to the boy, placing a hand on his shoulder. He immediately pulled it back as huge tears welled up in the boys' eyes and he shrunk away from the seemingly gentle touch.

Alphonse sniffled and curled up into a ball, the coat Riza had covered him with smelling like sanctuary. He wanted to say no, but the words weren't coming, small whispers of breath along the rims of his lips. But the hand was gone and the soft voice disappeared into humming, as Fury worked at his desk.

Eventually Al sat up, wincing at the pain, tears coming back to his eyes that he blinked back. "C-can I have some clothes?" he tried, leaning against the headboard, barely able to see Fury working at his desk, but his words were too soft, and weren't heard over the dull scratching of Fury's pen against paper.

Fury turned around at the wisp of sound, not sure if he heard anything. "Al?" he murmured. "Did you say something?" The boy was sitting up now, his back rigidly flat against the headboard. The boxers were like a skirt on him, much to large, and he still clasped at the blue coat around him with clumsy fingers.

Al nodded, swallowing hard, and then shook his head.

Fury frowned and turned around so he could watch Alphonse. The boy's fingers had strayed from grasping the coat and were absentmindedly stroking the kitten that had meandered back into his lap.

"So cold," Al whispered to Fury, looking up at the man, seeing his poor visage reflected in the man's square-rimmed glasses.

"Do you want a thicker jacket?" Fury asked, looking at Riza's light coat pooling over him.

Al shook his head hard and started trembling again, pulling the jacket tight around him. "N-no," he mumbled, puffs of breath coming between his lips after each exhalation. "I want warmer clothes."

"I don't have any clothes your size," Fury tried to explain, opening the drawers for him. Uniforms in one, underwear, neatly aligned in another. In the last drawer he yanked open, a girls' dress flopped out, along with a t-shirt and some other jeans. "My niece's," he said, smiling at Al, trying to figure out what the look on his face was.

"Those jeans are warmer than your boxers," Al said softly, moving from the headboard to the edge of the bed, looking at them. "I want to wear them." Al sighed deeply, pulling his knees to his chest.

"O-oh, okay," Fury stammered, not sure what to say to that. "Do you want me to dress you?"

Al shook his head hard, not wanting to be touched. "I'll put them on," he said, looking at Fury expectantly. Not knowing what to do, Fury just handed him one of the girl's tops and the pair of jeans and watched Al as Al watched him.

"Aren't you going to turn around?" Al mumbled, a sudden blush on his face.

"Oh, oh yeah," Fury stammered, turning around so Al could dress himself.

Al's fingers numbly buttoned up the lacy shirt. He pulled the pants on, buttoning them, tracing the embroidery around the hems of the denim. Finally, he coughed lightly, trying to tell Fury he could turn back around. The boy'd let his hair down and Fury was surprised how much like a girl he looked. "Warm," Al said simply, clambering back to his perch on top of the pillows with the kittens, still holding onto Riza's jacket. Eventually, he let the jacket drop to the bed and curled up with it, holding Jeremy and Lily to him.

If it was a question of trust, she could deal with it, Riza told herself. They had the military parade to deal with as it was. She could distract Roy with enough paperwork to make him forget all about Alphonse. She was strong enough to deal with this.

"How many men have you decided on for the parade?" Riza asked, walking tall into the office, not letting doubts nag at her stature.

"It doesn't matter," Roy said with a yawn. "You're the one planning the parade."

"That's not true," Riza said, pointing to the paperwork in front of him.

Roy flipped through the papers and pointed out several blank areas that had been filled with Riza's handwriting. "All you're asking for from me," he said simply, "is a verifying signature. You've filled out all the areas and planned everything."

"So I did..." Riza said softly, going through the papers, remembering the long nights she had spent, knowing how important this would be for Roy's public reputation. "Oh well. We'll be able to have the parade soon, then."

"It's set for Friday, according to what you've written," Roy said, looking at her. "Hawkeye, are you feeling alright?"

She shook her head then nodded, wishing she didn't feel this disconcerted. Detail was something she was good at, so she should be able to remember what date she had set the parade for.

Maybe she was just distracted.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Fuhrer," she said eventually. "Just haven't been sleeping much."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," Roy said obligingly. "Oh, and when is Alphonse moving in with me?"

The words stung her hard, but she smiled at him. "Oh, well, a space opened up in the dorms, so we didn't even have to move him into your house."

Roy nodded. "It's probably better for him. Give him a bit of independence."

Riza nodded to that and gathered up the paperwork. "Well, I better file this," she said curtly, knowing Al needed anything but independence at this point.


End file.
